


A Contextual Coda

by Zeke21



Series: Son of a Preacher Man [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Gay Dean Winchester, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, POV Sam Winchester, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 08:49:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14421810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeke21/pseuds/Zeke21
Summary: On his last night in Kansas, there's a knock on the door.





	A Contextual Coda

On his last night in Kansas, there’s a knock on the front door.

“Get that will you?” John grunts, not looking away from the TV.

It’s Missouri. Before he can speak, she’s pressing a postcard into his hands.

“Hide that. Now.” She tells him firmly and he stuffs it automatically into his pocket.

“Missouri? What’s going on?”

“Don’t let your father see that. It’s from Dean. He’s in San Francisco. That’s his address.” She’s talking quietly, and the drone of the TV will surely cover the sound of her voice, but Sam involuntarily steps closer anyway, it feels like the world has shrunk to be just him, her and the postcard crumpled in his jeans.

 “What?”

“I know you don’t like me talkin’ about him, I know you still don’t know what to think about him, but he’s your brother. You need him, he needs you.”

“Sam?” John shouts from the other room and they both jump. “Who is it?”

“Um,” Sam casts about desperately for a lie, “it’s Jo, she just wants to say goodbye.”

“Well tell her to come in or go home, you’re lettin’ all the cool out.”

“Yeah, Ok.” He turns back to Missouri. “What’ve you told him about me? Missouri you promised not to say anything.”

Missouri’s mouth twists. “’N I’ve kept that promise, much as it kills me to. He knows you’re off to college but that’s it. He sent it for me but I’m givin’ it to you. It’s only an hour on the bus; I’ve gotten you a timetable.” She hands him another piece of paper.

“Missouri, I can’t.” He takes it anyway. _How can I look him in the face after everything?_ “He’ll hate me.”

“Don’t be an idiot Sam,” Missouri starts to say, “That could never –”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” John’s voice cuts her off. He stands, shadowed in the doorway, lit only by the flickering light of the TV.

“I was just droppin’ off some bus timetables for Sam,” Missouri says stiffly, “So that he can see a bit of California while he’s there.”

“Let me see,” John crosses the hallway in two strides, snatching the paper out of Sam’s hands (he instinctually stuffs the postcard deeper into his pocket) and holding it up to his face, eyes squinting. It occurs to Sam, with a wave of embarrassment, that the whole house reeks of whisky. “San Francisco?” John mutters, glaring at Missouri, “You tryna corrupt my other son now too?”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about John,” Missouri’s voice is smooth and impassive, “last I heard you only had the one. Sammy,” she smiles in his direction, eyes glittering. “You have a great time, ok? Make sure you see the world an’ don’t get stuck here like the rest of us.” She turns and walks away into the darkness.

John slams the door after her. “You don’t _ever_ go that fag town, you hear me?” He snaps, turning to Sam, who takes a step back. But all John does is sigh, ripping the timetable into little pieces. “I’m sorry Sam, I didn’t mean to get angry, but it’s not safe there. Not for anyone, but especially not for a young boy on his own. Please, promise me you won’t go.”

“I promise Dad,” Sam’s mouth is dry. “I’ll probably be too busy anyway.”

“Thanks Son. C’mon, the sermon’s about to start.” John motions them back towards the TV, slumping into his armchair,  whisky bottle on the floor beside him.

Sam musters all the courage he can. “Dad, what did you mean about ‘corrupting my other son’?”

John stiffened, hand clutching at the whisky bottle. It was empty, but he brought it up to his lips anyway, as if it could give him the answer to the question Sam had asked. “Nothin’ Sammy, just watch TV.”

 

Later, when John’s snores are drowning out the sound of the news, Sam creeps back to his room and pulls the crumpled postcard out his pocket. He flattens it out against his desk and reads it by the moonlight, squinting in the dimness.

On one side is a picture of the golden gate bridge with a sunset behind it. On the other is the address of a diner on Castro Street. Sam’s heart races at the handwriting. It’s still the same. There’s a short message too and he reads it greedily.

 

_Hey Missouri,_

_How’s Sammy doin’? Has he left for college yet? You still haven’t told me where he’s going, how come? I’ll bet it’s somewhere fancy like Harvard, that kid’s always been too smart for his own good. Tell him to make sure to pack jumpers, Boston’s fucking freezing in the winter._

_Anyway, how’ve you been? How’s the library? I think I’m really starting to fit here, and I think I’m gonna be here for a long time. Something about this place feels right. Crowley (the owner, dumb name I know) says that if I work half my shifts free for the next 3 years I’ll have saved up enough to buy the deeds off him. It’s a shit deal but it’ll be worth it. Once I’ve done that, and once I manage to get an apartment, you should come visit me. You’d love it here I know._

_Write soon and try and tell Sammy I’m proud of him._

_Dean._


End file.
